BRANCHES

This week hasn't been my favorite. The biggest thing was the 28th anniversary of my mom's death, which, for a variety of reasons, was the hardest year of that milestone I've ever had and included buckets and buckets and buckets of tears shed behind closed doors.

Of course, there have been all the other ordinary struggles of life. Parenting exhaustion. Homemaking failures. Communication breakdowns. Insomnia. Physical discomfort. Inefficient time management. Humanity. Sometimes, like this week, those ordinary things pile on and feed off each other, then become even harder to rationally deal with when placed on a mountain of grief. I've become increasingly annoyed by petty complaints and general irresponsibility when I face bigger issues and responsibilities of my own, yet I've quite hypocritically dished out all sorts of petty complaints and demonstrated less than stellar responsibility myself this week.

Humans are flawed. Life is messy.

My response has been to withdraw for several days. With the exception of taking care of my online responsibilities and responding to direct communication, I've avoided Facebook. I haven't blogged. I haven't sent chatty texts, e-mails, Facebook messages, or happy mail. I haven't talked to anyone about how I'm feeling. If you know my extroverted, people-loving, overly wordy self at all, you know that multiple days of intentionally avoiding interaction with others is a big deal. I just needed a break, some time to pull myself together without a bunch of distractions.

I've read my Bible, listened to my "When Life Stinks" playlist, gone on brisk walks, read library books, prayed, eaten lots of healthy meals, and taken long showers. I've also cried, spoken in anger and frustration, had snarky conversations in my head, and eaten far more cookies and candy than any person should.

Again, humans are flawed and life is messy.

I feel ready to dip my toe back in the online waters today and am doing so with a poem I've shared before. It's blustery here today and the last two lines of the poem, which are my favorite, came to mind as I was picking up branches that had blown all over our yard this afternoon.


VIEW I

A storm came through our garden once;
It shred and broke and tore,
Til all that lay within its path
Was shaken o'er and o'er

Then firmly called the sun for quiet;
It shushed the wind and held the rain;
Then gently wrapped the fraught creation
With warm and healing arms again

After days of loving comfort,
Timid shoots of green peeked through,
And gentle colors shyly opened,
Promise of a deeper hue

When seasons changed, a passerby
Beheld a two-faced view ---
Of rain-thrashed trees and battered shrubs,
Yet also growth, alive and new


VIEW II

The Husbandman has placed His servants
Within a garden, precious, rare
To labor, pray, rejoice, and weep
O'er every branch he's planted there.

Our Father also knew before
That violent, unrelenting rains,
Sweeping o'er his precious vineyard
Would bring wreckage, sorrow, pain

But far beyond, the Keeper knew
The storm would more than havoc sow;
For rains that plunder stiffened branches
Cause the yielding ones to grow.

~ Barbara Perkins


If you're having a rough week, month, or season of your own, I pray that you'll see hope in the grief, feel joy in the stress, and experience growth that can only come from struggle. Be a yielding branch.

DISCONTENTMENT

It was spring but it was summer I wanted; the warm days and the great outdoors.

It was summer but it was fall I wanted; the colorful leaves and the cool dry air.

It was fall but it was winter I wanted; the beautiful snow and the joy of the holiday season.

It was now winter but it was spring I wanted; the warmth and the blossoming of nature.

I was a child but it was adulthood I wanted; the freedom and the respect.

I was twenty but it was thirty I wanted; to be mature and sophisticated.

I was middle-aged but it was twenty I wanted; the youth and the free spirit.

I was retired but it was middle-age I wanted; the presence of mind without limitations.

My life was over but I never got what I wanted.

~ an unnamed fourteen year old boy, quoted by Linda Dillow in Calm My Anxious Heart: A Woman's Guide to Finding Contentment, originally from Dr. Charles R. Swindoll's teaching entitled Who Gets the Glory?

Note: I titled this blog post "Discontentment", but the poem/quote itself did not have a title.

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THE WEAVER

A friend has had a phenomenally hard week and the thick silver linings have backed right up against more dark clouds. It's been a difficult four days for her family and a somewhat chaotic and stressful 12 hours for our circle of friends. Things just haven't gone they way it seems they should have.

I mentioned to our group of friends last night that the situation reminded me of the poem about the weaver and his tapestry.  It seems to go by different titles in different places and the author's identity is usually unknown, though some have attributed it to different people. So, without a title or an author, I want to share this classic poem that many of you probably already know. We may not be going through things as huge as my friend, but we all have struggles we're facing, things that just don't seem to serve a purpose.

My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily

Oft' times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside

Not 'til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why

The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold or silver
In the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him

OF STORMS & GROWTH

My yard looks like winter.  Bare trees and mud, twigs and branches, fallen leaves and dead grass.

My life also looks like winter.  Extended unemployment, financial stress, issues that are inevitable when six individuals share a life and roof, personal struggles for various family members, and buckets of tears.

However, my yard is also showing signs of spring, evidence of growth and an upcoming season that is prettier than the one we're in right now.

My life, too, is showing signs of a better season ahead, some things that have already changed for the better and little slivers of hope for some of the things that continue to be difficult.

Between the way my yard looks these days, what's going on in my personal life, and today being the 22nd anniversary of my mom's death, I thought this would be the perfect time to post a poem of my mom's. She wrote it in 1977 and I love it, especially the last two lines.


VIEW I

A storm came through our garden once;
     it shred and broke and tore,
Til all that lay within its path
     was shaken o'er and o'er

Then firmly called the sun for quiet;
     it shushed the wind and held the rain;
Then gently wrapped the fraught creation
     with warm and healing arms again

After days of loving comfort,
     timid shoots of green peeked through,
And gentle colors shyly opened,
     promise of a deeper hue

When seasons changed, a passerby
     beheld a two-faced view ---
Of rain-thrashed trees and battered shrubs,
     yet also growth, alive and new


VIEW II

The Husbandman has placed His servants
     within a garden, precious, rare
To labor, pray, rejoice, and weep
     o'er every branch he's planted there.

Our Father also knew before
     that violent, unrelenting rains,
Sweeping o'er his precious vineyard
     would bring wreckage, sorrow, pain

But far beyond, the Keeper knew
     the storm would more than havoc sow;
For rains that plunder stiffened branches
     cause the yielding ones to grow.

~ Barbara Perkins